Tank Rider: Into the Reich with the Red Army

Chernyshov walked up to me, sat down under a tree and we discussed the situation and further action. Chernyshov reported the situation to the battalion commander over the field ’phone and received an order to wait for the tanks to arrive. At that moment the Fritzes opened artillery fire, most likely from tank guns, and shells exploded, both short and over us. They did not know the company’s position and fired at random.

A shell hit the tree, beneath which Chernyshov and I were sitting; splinters wounded several men, including me. Chernyshov was not hit. All this happened in a twinkle of an eye – I did not even manage to realize that I was wounded and did not lie down on the ground – but something just bent me. I quickly ran away from the spot, shouted to Chernyshov that I was wounded and quickly – running and walking – went to the battalion’s aid post. They bandaged me in haste, and I went to the Brigade’s medical and sanitary platoon. It turned out that I was wounded in the right side of my chest, both shoulders and the left foot. They disinfected my wounds in the medical platoon and bandaged them. I was hoping that I would be sent to a hospital, but my dreams did not materialize. I did not want to stay in the medical platoon and went back to the battalion. I reported to the battalion commander and received permission to stay at the aid post. A couple of times I had to go to the medical platoon to change the bandages, the wounds healed, but the movements of my right hand were still limited, the wound was sore, the pain echoed in my chest (these splinters are still both in my shoulders and in my chest).

For about a week I hung around the kitchen (it had finally arrived and started to provide food to battalion’s men), until the battalion was transferred to another sector, where the situation became difficult. In my absence the platoon was led by my assistant platoon leader, a Jewish Senior Sergeant, whose last name I totally forget. He arrived in my platoon in June 1944 from an army unit. A brave and steady NCO, he was a good assistant to me. He proved himself a good soldier in action in Lvov. Soldiers of my platoon and even the company, especially the old hands, took to him straight away for his calm character, bravery and smartness in battle. He deserved to be reckoned with. It was a pity that soon after I was wounded he was killed, mortally wounded by a shell splinter in his chest. He was just 22 years old.

After I was wounded, tanks arrived to assist the companies. Just three T-34-85 tanks arrived, but they increased the morale of the soldiers. Already then, in mid-1944, the tank crews were afraid of Panzerfausts and we tank riders would sit at the front of the tanks when in forests. In such cases tanks were ordered to fire just armourpiercing shells at enemy tanks, not high-explosive shells. Everything seemed to be clear and tank crews were supposed to know that order and stick to it, but as the saying goes, every family has its black sheep. One of the tanks fired only one shell, it hit a tree and cut down all who stood next to it. Senior Sergeant Safronov, medic of our company, veteran of the battalion, was killed. He was 43 or 45 years old, we all respected him, he was a cheerful and brave ‘uncle’, he always provided first medical aid to wounded soldiers and was highly respected in the company. I enjoyed good friendly relations with him; when there were no soldiers around, he rarely addressed me with full military rank, but called me by name. Why did he have to be in the attacking line? Apparently, he wanted to provide medical aid directly on the battlefield.

As they told me later, both companies went through the forest and dug in in the field in front of the forest, among abandoned village houses. It was a good place to set a defence. The Fritzes – both infantry and tanks – disappeared out of sight and did not disturb the company, and our tanks also left.